Mr & Mrs Smith

Some hotels get quite the reputation. Celebrities flock, the rich return and the rest of us aspire to grace the hallowed grounds while attempting not to ogle someone famous stretched on the sunlounger next to us. Such is Amankila on Bali’s thankfully less-developed east coast. One incredibly well-travelled friend – a boutique connoisseur with a form of hotel ADD – names it his favourite holiday destination in the world and, trust me, he’s seen a few (thousand). Posh and Becks don’t seem to have checked into Amankila just before us, but fear not: your intrepid reviewers are ready to report back nevertheless. Armed with a healthy dose of ‘it can’t be that good’, we accept our brief to find out what all the fuss is about.

Amankila’s greeting is understated. We enter the hotel compound from above, the ubiquitous Balinese jungle gradually giving way to tamer, more manicured frangipani and tuberoses and, finally, the genteel reception area. I recognise a slight ‘I told you so’ brow lift from Mr Smith, but it’s soon replaced by an embarrassing ‘oh my god, are those three cascading infinity pools?’ jaw-drop as we begin the show and tell en route to our villa. Yes, those are indeed three swimming pools terracing the cliff. They’re lined with sexy grey volcanic slate, surrounded by expansive thatched bales and overlook the deep blue sea of Lombok Strait. I pick out one for cocktails later. Meh, I guess it’s alright.

The villas are another revelation we try hard not to get overexcited about. Perched high above the undergrowth on concrete stilts and accessed via a series of elevated walkways (does Bali have earthquakes?), they manage to deliver absolute privacy and ocean views. Ours is on the resort’s westernmost boundary and its generous entrance terrace, complete with enticing day-bed and casual desk, faces the sea. Inside, a suite the size of our city pied à terre is all beige tones, marble floors, woven roof coverings and his-and-his gold bathroom fittings. OK, it’ll do.

As it happens, we choose neither to lounge in our new home nor live it up poolside. Instead, we venture to the private beach, a five-minute walk down the hill. Here, we see double: another 40-metre pool, serviced by its own café, sits among sleek lawns and a sparse coconut palm grove. We resist again and finally make it intact to the sandy shore, where more bales and plumply cushioned sunloungers provide hassle-free reading spots. Glasses of tangy ginger beer appear as if by magic, and we settle in for an afternoon of reading, snoozing, wandering and swimming. OK, I admit it, we’re finally hooked.

Dinner that night does nothing to undermine the effect. Our sundowner G&Ts are superbly mixed and chilled. A generous menu of Asian and European favourites seems flawlessly executed – an East Balinese fish curry is wonderfully sweet and sour, and the satay sauce a revelation of perfect peanuttiness. A gamelan plinks away in the background.

It is hard not to sleep the sleep of two overgrown babies that night with the distant crashing of waves acting as a lullaby. In some ways, this might be considered the sum total of Amankila’s charms – pool, beach, villa, restaurant, plus the occasional spa treatment and daily tea ritual – but it’s a strangely large total in this particular execution of that time-honoured combination. It is hard to put a finger on what makes Amankila so incredibly special. Partly, it is to do with scale. We discover later that the resort’s land footprint at 34 suites is, in fact, the same as a recently developed luxury hotel in Jimbaran – at more than 800 rooms! It’s easy to lose the crowds here. Hell, it’s easy to lose yourself. Service also plays a big part – it’s attentive, constant, understated, genuinely proud and never servile. And seclusion is clearly one of its key attributes for camera-shy celebs, since only the most determined paparazzi could get anywhere near close enough for a shot.

But somehow the sum of these elements is far greater than its parts – a multiplication factor in many ways caused by its location on one of the world’s great island getaways. This is Bali, remember; volcanic Mount Agung towers above the coastline like something out of a geography book and everywhere – even in the resort – little elephant gods wear their black and white scarves in incense-filled shrines.

Our Amankila stay happens at the end of an extended island break, so we have the perfect excuse to make like complete sloths and not take up any of the hotel’s many ‘off campus’ activities. It gives these heavy-lidded Smiths even more time to road-test (read: nap beside) all the beach and pool hotspots and come up with a considered opinion on Amankila’s many charms. The verdict? Our spoiled friend with the short attention span is right. This could well be our favourite holiday ever.